Flight of the Fallen l-2

by Mary H. Herbert

  “Where are the Knights?” he hissed. “We must get Lady Linsha out, too.”

  Sir Hugh shushed him. “Come with me,” he murmured over the wind. “You can help.”

  He led the stallion out into the darkness to another small group of militia that waited patiently in the storm. At Sir Hugh’s nod, they fell in behind him and worked their way through the ruins to the back of the storehouse that served as the Knights’ prison. Using hand signals, the Knight sent two men to watch for Tarmak guards and the rest began to hack at the base of the wall with trowels and small shovels.

  For a moment Leonidas thought they had lost their minds. The storehouse was built of stone and had survived almost intact for five hundred years. They could not dig underneath this building in anything less than days, and then what would be the point? The Tarmaks would find them long before they made a hole large enough for a human to slip through. Yet as he watched, he began to see some sense in their labor. The old walls were not solid stone. Behind a facade of crumbling sandstone was a thick layer of ancient mud bricks that had gradually deteriorated over the centuries. It easily gave way to the determined efforts of the men with the tools.

  Taking turns, the men hacked and chopped until they had made a small hole through the wall. Voices from within called out to them but quickly hushed when Sir Hugh warned them to be quiet.

  One of the sentries hurried back to the wall. “Sir Hugh, there are three Tarmaks walking through the yard. They are coming to this end of the building.”

  Leonidas and the militia melted back into the darkness. Shielding their eyes from the downpour, they watched as the Tarmaks climbed over the ruins of the courtyard wall and walked around the corner of the prison. The warriors stopped and waited, obviously listening and looking out into the rain. Nothing must have excited their attention, for they conversed a moment then went back to the yard and disappeared into the shadows of the palace.

  The militiamen went back to work prying and chopping the bricks loose to form a larger hole. They could hear the Knights within working on their side of the wall with their fingers.

  “Sir Hugh,” a stern voice called through the hole. “Is that you? Did you survive?”

  “Sir Remmik, yes, I am here.” Hugh said as loudly as he dared. “Let me speak to Lady Linsha.”

  There was a cold silence on the other side, then Linsha’s voice answered him softly.

  “If we get you out, will the Tarmak general kill Crucible?” he asked.

  She pulled a brick out of the way, and he saw the pale blur of her face in the blackness of the gap. “I don’t think so,” she replied. “Varia brought me the news of his plans to take the Plains of Dust. I think he wants the dragon more than he wants me.”

  “I don’t agree,” Lanther said from behind her. “He knows how much the dragon cares for you. If you are gone-or worse if you are killed-there will be no holding that dragon. The general will be forced to kill him.”

  Sir Hugh was about to reply when shouts rang out from the slave pens nearby. A horn sounded a warning. The Knight swore under his breath. “Leonidas, here!” He pointed to the wall. “Finish it.”

  Men scrambled out of the way as the buckskin stallion turned his rump to the wall. His powerful haunches rose and his hooves delivered a resounding kick to the edges of the hole. Sandstone crumbled and bricks flew under the force of his blow. He gathered his legs under him again and slammed another kick into the wall.

  More shouting came from the slave pens, and torches appeared in the darkness. Screams followed the shouts as the Tarmaks charged to destroy the raiders. Sir Hugh did not wait any longer. Pushing Leonidas’s rump aside, he reached in through the hole in the wall, shoving bricks and pieces of mortar aside. The prisoners helped from their side until a hole perhaps a foot and a half wide had been made. He reached through, grabbed the first arm he felt, and hauled the person out of the storehouse.

  Linsha fell flopping in the mud at his feet and grinned at him. “Ouch,” she said.

  “Leonidas, get her out of here!” Sir Hugh shouted. He reached in again to help the next Knight.

  Linsha climbed to her feet and helped Sir Hugh pulled a Knight from the gap. “Lanther! Come on, get out now!” she cried into the prison.

  But he ignored her and pushed one of the Legionnaires through. Another Knight followed.

  The sounds of shouting orders and clash of weapons could be heard even over the rain. “Please, Lanther! They’ll be here any moment!”

  She felt a muddy hand grasp her wrist, and Lanther’s face peered through the hole. “I can’t. They’re here already. Don’t go, Linsha! It’s too dangerous! Let the others go, but if you are killed, they will destroy Crucible. Remember what the general said! ‘Don’t do anything to jeopardize his well-being.’ ”

  Her eyes wide, she stared at him, her heart torn by his words.

  “Please!” he exclaimed. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  Something sliced past her and buried itself in the wall by her shoulder. Another arrow struck the first freed Knight, sending him spinning to the ground. The fletched end of an arrow quivered in his chest. From somewhere inside the prison she heard the loud commands of a Tarmak guard.

  “That’s it!” Sir Hugh shouted. He wrenched her out. “Leonidas, take her now! The rest of you, get out!”

  Linsha hesitated. What if Lanther was right? What if her escape angered the Akkad-Ur so much he killed the bronze? Would he do that? Would Crucible understand why she left and be patient? Gods, what a muddle! And what did Lanther mean in his last plea?

  She wasn’t given more time to think. More arrows rained down around them, and she could see warriors running around the building to cut them off.

  The militia and the two freed prisoners bolted into the darkness, Sir Hugh close on their heels. She felt the centaur’s two strong hands on her waist swing her around and throw her up in the air. She landed with a thump on Leonidas’s back and scrambled to find her balance just before he wheeled and sprinted into the driving rain.

  The night and storm swallowed them, and the old ruins vanished behind.

  16

  Into the Plains

  At dawn the orgwegul, the officer in charge of the guards at the dragon’s palace, presented himself and his second at the Akkad-Ur’s headquarters to report the escape of the prisoners. In the proud manner of the Tarmak warrior, he did not cringe, complain, grovel, or make excuses. He explained the facts, including the deaths of five Tarmaks, one Solamnic Knight, a dozen slaves, and three militia raiders. He also reported the escape of the Rose Knight and two companions from the prison, and fifteen centaurs and slaves from the pens. He was standing so stiffly that it took his body several moments before it collapsed on the floor next to his head.

  The Akkad-Ur gripped his sword and glared at the orgwegul’s second officer. The officer threw back his shoulders, lifted his chin, and waited. There was little tolerance for failure in the forces of the Tarmak emperor.

  “You,” the Akkad-Ur said, stabbing the point of the sword toward the waiting warrior. “You and the rest of the guards in your command will report to the Dog Units until such time as I deem you are worthy to return to the ranks. If one word of this escape leaks to the dragon, I will personally flay you alive.”

  The warrior bowed, his face stony. Only the tremor in his hands revealed the pent-up feelings he dared not express. The Dog Units were a punishment one step away from death. A position in the emperor’s cohorts afforded a Tarmak advancement, honor, and an opportunity to plunder. The Dog Units were little more than servants who served the cooks, the wagon masters, and the gravediggers. It was almost worse than exile. Stepping over the corpse of his dead commander, he bowed again and departed to give the news to the remaining guards.

  When the warrior was gone, the Akkad-Ur shoved his sword at a waiting slave and said, “Remove that body and clean the sword.” He turned back to his officers. Three men who commanded the dekul of thousands and one black-clad Keena pr
iest stood around his table.

  “What of the dragon?” asked one of the dekegul. “If he learns the woman has fled, he may try to break the spell of the dart.”

  “We will keep that news from him as long as possible. If he learns the truth and grows intractable, we will remind him of the Abyssal Lance.”

  The Keena, a slim male with eyes the color of tropical seas, said, “There are the eggs as well. We should have enough left to discourage any thoughts of disobedience.”

  “Take care of those eggs, Shurnasir,” the Akkad-Ur warned. “They are more valuable than the gold and steel of the dragon’s treasure.”

  “They are well packed and warm, my lord. My assistants assure me they are still viable.”

  “Excellent. Now,” he said, bending over the maps, “tell me of the condition of the army.”

  “According to our spies and to Varia’s reports, the Tarmak can field about nine thousand men. That’s including foot soldiers, archers, and a small contingent of two-man chariots-gods know where they picked those up-which will leave about two to three thousand here in Missing City.”

  Mariana’s tone of bitter sarcasm was not lost on Linsha. She thought about the dismal numbers of militia that had straggled into Sinking Wells-the escaped slaves, the few reinforcements from the scattered plains tribes, and the refugees that had found their way to the camp-and she wanted to weep. They could field ninety. Maybe. If they were lucky. If the wounded came. If the cooks and camp followers showed up.

  “We have no choice,” Falaius said. “We must abandon the city.”

  Leaving Missing City was a difficult choice for them all, but especially, Linsha knew, for Falaius and the Legion. This was their city. Falaius had come with the first group of Legionnaires that set up their tents in the shelter of the ancient ruins and began to rebuild the buildings from the ghostly images that still glowed and reflected the vanished city back to the world. He had stood in the sands and welcomed Iyesta and watched with pride as the lonely outpost turned into a thriving community. He had fought and bled to defend it and had watched his Legionnaires give their lives for it. Now he was being forced to leave it in the hands of the enemy.

  “It would be better for us to leave,” Linsha said. “The Akkad-Ur has not bothered with us yet. But he will.” She reached over and squeezed Falaius’s arm. “The Tarmaks are vast compared to us, well-trained, and disciplined. Their commanders are experts and their equipment is plentiful.”

  “They are also ferocious fighters-and brutal,” Sir Hugh added. He didn’t need to mention Scorpion Wadi. The massacre was still a raw place in all their thoughts.

  “The Dark Knights trained them well,” Falaius said. “And they have a dragon,” said Linsha.

  She sat back in her saddle, careful not to disturb Varia perched on her shoulder, and continued to gaze down toward the distant city. Smoke curled from a thousand fires and rose to meet an incoming bank of fog. The storm had finally ended just after dawn, but the clouds had remained thick and heavy. Now in the late afternoon, just out to sea a heavy bank of fog slowly rolled toward shore. On a hill miles away from Missing City the four riders sat quietly on their mounts and looked over the city they had tried so hard to save.

  “Will they kill him?” Sir Hugh asked her again.

  Linsha did not answer immediately. Lanther had seemed so certain the night before.

  If she squinted hard enough and looked in just the right place in the center of the city, she fancied she saw a faint glint of bronze. “No,” she said at last. “I still don’t believe so. The Akkad-Ur wanted a dragon to help his army defeat the people of the plains. Thunder was too unreliable. Iyesta was too powerful. Crucible is just right.”

  “But he is not an evil dragon,” Mariana protested. “He will not kill at the Tarmak’s command.”

  Linsha shrugged. “Probably not. Not even to save himself. But I was thinking about that while I was in the prison. The Tarmaks do not need him to fight, they can do that themselves. They just want him to be there. To lure any would be attackers into a false sense of security. Who wouldn’t look at a bronze dragon in the midst of a large army and think, ‘Oh, they must be on our side. They have a metallic with them.’ By the time they get close enough to learn differently, the Tarmaks have moved in for the kill. And if the battle isn’t going their way, all they have to do is jab that dart deeper into Crucible’s neck, and he radiates dragonfear like an infuriated blue.”

  And it is my fault he is with them, repeated her persistent guilt.

  Another, smaller voice of reason spoke up in her mind. Don’t be so self-centered. This isn’t just about you. He could have come back for any number of reasons. And you cannot be blamed for what the Tarmaks did to him.

  But she could hardly hear the voice over the guilt that plagued her. He had come to the prison yard for her. He’d come thinking it would be an easy task, and there she was hanging like a side of beef in plain view-a perfect target from the roof. It was her fault he was there; her fault he was hurt and crippled.

  “Does Crucible know you escaped?” Sir Hugh’s question cut into her inner debate and pulled her back to the present.

  Linsha shook her head fiercely as if to rid herself of the demons in her mind. On her shoulder, Varia turned her head to look at the Knight and answered for her. “I don’t think he does. Apparently the Tarmaks haven’t told him, and I can’t get close to him. They’ve put archers up on the roofs to shoot at anything larger than a sparrow that comes near him.”

  “You could try tonight,” Mariana suggested.

  Linsha rubbed her temples. Her head still ached from the blow two nights before, which only exacerbated her foul mood. “I’m not sure we should tell him yet,” she said, reluctance in every word. “Bronzes are straightforward thinkers. If he knows I am free of the Tarmaks, he may try something stupid to get away. We have to try to find a way to remove that dart before we can free him of the Akkad-Ur.”

  And what if he finds out I’ve left without telling him? she thought miserably.

  The owl swiveled her head around to stare at Linsha, but she said no word of encouragement or rebuke.

  “Then we’d better save the militia,” Falaius said. “Save those we can and go north to Duntollik. They have the weapons and the warriors to oppose the Tarmak army. And,” he said for Linsha’s sake, “there are powerful mystics and shamans among the tribes to the north. They may have an answer to your problem.”

  Sir Hugh scratched the dirty blond stubble on his chin. “What about the rest of the prisoners?”

  “They will have to wait,” Mariana answered. “We dare not try another raid.”

  The black mood settled deeper into Linsha’s mind. Of course she knew they must leave the others behind, but the words hit her hard. They would have to leave Lanther, the rest of the Knights, and even Sir Remmik. She would miss Lanther very much. As much as she disliked the knight commander, even Remmik did not deserve to be abandoned to the enemy.

  The four riders looked at one another and finally agreed with the barest of nods. In unspoken unity, they wheeled their horses back to the faint path that led to Sinking Wells.

  Two hours later, as the fog descended on the hills, the last remnants of Iyesta’s forces prepared to leave. They sent a small party of women, the child, and a few wounded with an escort to Mem-Thon, the tribal village close to the Silvanesti Forest. Those who remained lit a few fires, left some tents standing among the trees, and mounted their horses to leave the oasis.

  At the edge of the deserted camp, Linsha reined her horse to a stop and watched the silent centaurs and riders as they filed past. The greater number of the two-legged militia had scrounged or stolen enough horses to ride and vowed to follow Falaius and Mariana wherever they would lead them. A few had chosen to stay behind and try to work their way back into the city. They had family still trapped in Missing City they did not want to leave behind. Two other Legionnaires had offered to pose as slaves and travel with the Tarmaks to gather what
information they could on the army and its plans. Linsha was not sure how successful they would be, but she respected their courage and willingness to try.

  The thought of the spies brought another unpleasant thought to mind: The spy in their own midst. Where was he or she now? Had this person been killed in the Wadi? Or left behind in the slave pens? Or worse, were they taking the spy with them into the Plains?

  She patted her horse’s neck and set the thought aside for now. They all would have to be vigilant in the days ahead. But for now, there was a long ride through the night and into the next day to look forward to. They had to put some distance between themselves and the Tarmaks.

  With a whistle to Varia, she urged her horse into the line of riders and soon disappeared into the night and mist.

  Under the assumption that the militia leaders would have learned a lesson, the Tarmaks did not attack the oasis of Sinking Wells in the cover of darkness. They kept their distance and waited until dawn. Instead of slinking in to kill the sentries and attack the soldiers in their beds, the ekwul charged the camp in a yelling, intimidating horde, swinging their swords and clashing their shields.

  All they found were empty tents, dead fires, and a few graves.

  Annoyed, the ekwegul sent a runner to the Akkad-Ur, who told him to wait.

  A wind from the desert blew in and tore away the curtain of sea fog. The clouds shredded and faded away to reveal a sky of cerulean blue. The sun warmed the earth and dried the grass. Sheep drifted out of their shelters and onto the hills, looking like bits of cloud left behind.

  Three hours after sunrise the Tarmak warriors at the oasis heard the distant sound of horns. Excitedly they grouped on the top of a nearby slope and watched with pride as the army of their emperor marched along the trail from Missing City. In the vanguard rode the scouts and a unit of chariots pulled by the large, stocky Damjatt horses. Behind them came the Akkad-Ur’s personal retainers, accompanying the bronze dragon, who stalked silently among them. Then marched the foot soldiers in rank after rank of blue skins and shining weapons. To the rear rolled the chariots followed by the baggage wagons pulled by massive oxen and the mob of slaves pressed into duty as laborers and pack carriers. In their midst trudged the Knights of Solamnia and the two members of the Legion of Steel.